


crumbled you straight to your knees

by forcynics



Series: vampire diaries ficathon fills [21]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6135517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forcynics/pseuds/forcynics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She  is in his blood and his bone and this feels like coming home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crumbled you straight to your knees

It is not until he touches her that he truly breaks. He does not believe in her, not in this girl in front of him, not that she could be real after one hundred and fifty years of existing solely in the province of memory and imagination. That– that was _his_ Katherine, and now there is the real Katherine, but this one is tangible, this one he can touch.

He staggers as he cups her cheeks, then she is pushing at him, pinning him back against the wall in a blur that leaves only a roar in his ears, and he pushes back, traps her against the shelves, against the floor, and then he groans, then he lets himself go, lets himself simply _fall_ into what he longed after for so damned long.

She is fresh even in crippling familiarity, she is in his blood and his bone and this feels like coming home, _Katherine, Katherine_ is everything, everywhere; she made him, she is him, he is gone.

“ _Katherine, Katherine_ ,” her name is a litany. It is a murmur that he pours into her skin, a chant that he twists into her hair. She is pliant beneath him, soft and hard and real, biting at his mouth and his neck, teeth dragging into the skin, nipping and marking as once she did before, and it is the same again, he is _hers, hers, hers_ , and their hands slide under each other’s clothes, he needs to run his fingers over every inch of her, canvas her body head to toe, he needs to believe this is really her, she is impossibly real again.

“ _Please,_ ” he chokes, when his mouth drags from hers. One word to break him out of this, her, everything – for one moment, he only needs one moment. He holds her face in his hands, meets her eyes, and his mouth shudders over his breath.

“I need to know...” it is a whisper. It is met with her lips on his, her fingers prying his from her cheeks.

Katherine rolls, fluid, traps him beneath her and presses her teeth into his shoulder, his chest. Her hair fans over his skin, and he needs to know, needs to ask, _did she ever—was there ever—was any of it true—_

But she is here now. She is real.

It is too easy to lose himself in a different story, a different history; she is pulling at him, coaxing him back through everything they have ever been, they are everything in this moment and he is rewriting history:

—he is in the tomb and Katherine was there, Katherine is withered in his arms and Katherine lets him save her and it has all been worth it, a century and a half of existence justified by this alone—

—he is in 1864 and there is no Stefan tugging at her affections, it is only this, only them; his love is enough for her and he will have her forever, she is his—

_And he is hers._

But that does not need to be rewritten; that is truth in any version of this tale.


End file.
